


First Time Caller

by LydiaLovestruck



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-04 00:23:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2902568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LydiaLovestruck/pseuds/LydiaLovestruck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Challenge for the Harry Potter/ Severus Snape Fuh-Q Fest From Dusk 'til Dawn: Harry calls a 1-900 number. Snape answers the phone.<br/>This work has been edited slightly from its original version, mostly for clarity. Please note that information about British chat lines comes from hearsay, not actual experience.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Time Caller

Harry didn’t like being secretive around the Weasleys, but if he was going to do this, he had no choice. He’d waited as long as he could after the others had gone to bed, pretending he was too wrapped up in a homework essay for history class to sleep. It was a terrible excuse, but they’d accepted it. That was all that mattered.

After recapping his ink bottle and hastily cleaning off his quill, Harry shoved his parchment in between the pages of his history book and hurried out of the Weasley kitchen. It was a cold December night and Harry made sure to grab his winter cloak from the hook beside the door before stepping outside into the darkness.

Glancing around, Harry saw a flash of silvery moonlight in the air. He looked up and recognized Hedwig, his owl, gliding toward him, her wings outstretched. She landed on his shoulder and he brushed her feathers with his fingers. “Go back to what you were doing,” he whispered. “I’m not sending a letter tonight.”

The owl hooted softly, tugged gently at his uncombed hair, then took off into the darkness. Harry smiled after her, pleased she was getting the opportunity to fly freely. At Hogwarts this term, he’d had to be extra careful about sending her anywhere. His white owl was particularly recognizable as belonging to the Boy Who Lived and had a tendency to be waylaid and shot at. But here, in Ottery St. Catchpole over the winter holiday break, she could fly in relative anonymity and peace.

Harry shoved his hands in his jeans pockets and felt the scrap of paper he’d kept in there every day since the return train ride from school. His heart thudded, almost hurting his ribs. He wanted to turn back, to forget the promise he’d made himself, but his Gryffindor courage would not fail him. Neither would his Gryffindor foolishness, he feared. He straightened his shoulders and marched across the Weasleys’ back yard toward the shed.

Mr. Weasley’s Shed.

Mr. Weasley’s Muggle Artifacts Shed.

The place Mrs. Weasley pretended did not exist.

That shed.

He hurried toward it, grateful he’d kept his shoes on for the grass was slippery. It had rained earlier that day, a cold, bitter downpour that had refused to become anything as Christmas-y as snow. He reached the shed, stepped close to the wall and looked back at the house. There were no additional lights on anywhere. No one was up. No one knew where he was. No one knew what he was about to do.

Good.

Harry quickly pulled the door to the shed open and stepped inside, closing the door carefully behind him. He heard the telltale squeak of the hinges and knew that, while it sounded like a badly tuned orchestra to him, it could not be heard by anyone inside the house. He hoped.

There were thick candles stuck into sconces on the walls, but Harry did not light them. Instead, he withdrew his wand and uttered a quick lumos. The resultant glow gave him all the light he needed to pick his way through the stacks of Muggle artifacts, objects and detritus that Mr. Weasley collected so eagerly. Harry dragged a wooden chair from the corner to the single usable table, which sat against the far wall. He stuck his wand upright in a pencil jar and sat down, sliding the heavy winter cloak off his shoulders to drape over the back of the chair.

He rubbed his hands over his jeans, but his palms did not feel any less sweaty. He took a deep breath, but could not seem to control his nerves. He stared at the telephone, newly installed by order of the Order of the Phoenix to facilitate communications between Order members doing field work in the Muggle world, but could not remember how to work it.

This is stupid, he told himself. You’re a nutter, Harry. Only you would be so scared about making a phone call. Likely it’s all a big scam anyway. There won’t be anyone at the other end.

That wouldn’t be so bad, he thought back. That way, no one would know what I’ve done. No one would know what a fool I’ve made of myself. No one would know how desperate I’ve been.

Or, his traitorous mind suggested, everyone will know. There’ll be all sorts of people on the other end of that telephone line and they’ll all know you have no idea what you’re doing. They’ll laugh at you.

He groaned quietly.

Stop it, Harry! It’s not a scam or there wouldn’t be adverts for them all over every phone booth in London, even at Kings Cross Station. There have to be people who call or there wouldn’t be so many numbers to choose from. If there weren’t any profit in it, there wouldn’t be so many competitors. People must do it all the time. Relax! Pick up the receiver and dial already!

For lack of any better idea, he shoved his hand inside his pocket and took out the torn piece of paper. He smoothed it onto the desk and stared at it once more. He’d already memorized the ad copy; he just liked to look at the picture.

A smiling, bare-chested, well muscled young man about two or three years older than Harry stood holding a phone to one ear while his other hand rested comfortably on his lean hip. He wore boxers, but the picture cut off just below the waistband. The man was impossibly cute, Harry thought, with a rakish grin, dark hair and twinkling eyes. Not for the first time did he wish it were a wizarding picture, for then it would move. He wondered what the model’s muscles looked like when he moved.

His eyes danced over the ad copy. FREE* GAY CHAT 09066 55 55 55 Chat up hot young studs – Meet new friends – Call the London Underground Connection! Bringing London lads together since 1991.

He sighed again. He was going to do it. After all, what was the point of ripping the ad off the phone booth wall and shoving it into his pocket when Ron looked away to watch Ginny purchase a Daily Mail? He had to do it. He owed it to himself.

He put his hand on the receiver. He picked it up. He put the receiver to his ear. He heard the dial tone. He pulled the base of the telephone toward him. His right forefinger hovered over the number 0. He put the receiver back. He sighed.

“Just do it, Harry James Potter!” he growled softly. “Do it and be done with it. For god’s sake. You’ve faced Voldemort himself with less fuss.”

That did it. He picked up the receiver and dialed the number, unconsciously hunching his shoulders in a protective posture.

He heard the number connect, the first ring, the second ring, and then…

“Welcome to the London Underground Connection. Press 1 to connect to a chat room now, or enter the number of a private room. To create a private room, press 2 now. London Underground Connection is not responsible for –“

Harry pressed 1. He waited. This wasn’t so terrible. So far, it seemed rather ordinary. A few beeps, a slight pause, and then –

“-so I was telling him, I don’t take that crap from nobody and I got out of there and I don’t care if he comes crawling back to me on his hands and knees. He’s not worth it. He only had a five-inch cock anyway. It’s not like I was shagging John Holmes.”

A thousand questions raced through Harry’s mind. What was going on? Who was talking? Was he supposed to talk like that? Did they know he was on the phone? Who was John Holmes? Size matters?

And then another voice said, “Mikey, you know you’re going to take him back. Why do you do this every fecking week?”

It sounded almost like Seamus, or Seamus’s older brother, Harry thought. He was a bit awed by the coarse language. Hogwarts students tended not to curse all that much. At least, Gryffindors didn’t. Much.

And a third voice, much higher pitched, said, “Stop it, you two. Who just came on? Introduce yourself, sweetie, and _please_ change the subject from Mikey’s latest break-up with his sugar daddy!”

Harry swallowed. That was his cue. “Um… hello,” he said softly.

“Well, speak up, sweetie!” the high-pitched voice urged. “You may be queer, but that doesn’t mean you need to be shy.”

Flushing, Harry tried again. “Hello! Um… everyone… ?”

“That’s better, sweetie,” that voice replied. “I’m Donny. What’s your name?”

“Hi, Donny,” Harry replied. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m… uh…” Something told him not to give his real name. Still, he didn’t want to give a name he wouldn’t recognize if they used it. Thinking quickly, discarding all his friends’ names, he offered, “Terry.”

“Nice to meet you, Terry,” said Donny.

“Oi, Terry,” the Seamus-sound-alike said. “Call me Finn.”

“Hi, Finn.”

“And I’m Mikey,” the first voice said. “New here, are you?”

“Uh, yeah,” Harry said. Then, not wanting to sound like a complete neophyte, added, “to this number, anyway.”

“Right, right,” Finn said sourly. “And I’ll bet you’ve just been burning up the phone lines before calling this one, right?”

Harry froze. They knew. They were going to laugh at him. The muscles in his arm twitched. He could always hang up the phone if it got out of hand, right?

“Back off, Finnegan,” a deeper, richer voice said suddenly. “Leave the boy alone.”

Finnegan? Could he be somehow related to Seamus? Older brother or cousin or something? That was Harry’s first thought. His second was, who is this new person and why is he sticking up for me?

“And if I don’t, Sal, then what are you going to do about it?”

Ah. His name was Sal. Odd name, Sal. For a bloke. 

“Don’t do this tonight,” Donny said pleadingly. “Leave off it for one night. Just one.”

But Sal wasn’t listening to Donny. Harry listened, fascinated, as Sal replied to Finn’s bluster. “Remember, I’ve met you in person, Finnegan, and if you don’t want certain details to be made as public as possible, you’ll leave the new boy alone.”

There was silence. Harry wondered just what dirt Sal had on Finn and if it was enough to prevent the man from making trouble. He also wondered what kind of trouble Finn was planning to cause him, and if he could always hang up the phone, why let it bother him at all?

“Ah, to hell with all you queers,” Finn grumbled. “I’ve got a date tonight anyway.”

“Sure, you do,” Sal said smoothly. “With the dirty fingers of your left hand.”

Laughter followed Sal’s statement. Even Harry had to giggle a bit at that. Then he heard the sound of a door closing.

A giggle. Lord, that was juvenile. Nothing like demonstrating one’s age!

“Well, thank goodness that creep’s gone,” Mikey said with obvious relief. “So, as I was saying about Aaron –“

“Oh, please don’t,” Sal said. “We’ve all heard this a dozen times before now. He’s got a five inch cock, but a tongue like a snake. We know. We know you’ll go back to him for a good suck and a decent rim job and that next week you’ll walk out on him again. We also know that you don’t care how much cock he’s got since you prefer to top anyway. So quit complaining, all right? For once?”

Silence. And then, “Jesus, Sal, you don’t have to be so rough.”

“But, Mikey,” Sal said smoothly, “you like it rough.”

All these grown-ups were gay? Somehow, he’d known there were other gays out there. Statistically, there had to be, but at Hogwarts, he was only one of about a dozen admitted homosexuals. Unfortunately, the only other gay Gryffindor his age was Neville Longbottom, who was definitely not his type at all. Thankfully, Neville was dating a Hufflepuff sixth year who had a fascination with dragon hide. The other gays were either Ravenclaw aesthetes or Slytherin sex fiends, and while Harry might be interested in sex for sex’s sake, he would never kneel down for a Slytherin! They’d probably enjoy it too much and for all the wrong reasons.

This chat line had been a godsend of an idea. If he couldn’t find any likely Wizards, he’d consort with Muggles. Since he had no way of getting out to a Muggle gay club or even a hamburger restaurant without his constant companions and would-be bodyguards Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger getting involved, the telephone chat line would have to do. So far, it was doing quite nicely. And maybe he’d get a chance to ask all the questions he needed answers to, like how to tell if another man was gay and if he might be interested, what men really liked to do in bed and were those books in the Restricted Section accurate accounts or just fantasy.

He relaxed a bit, relying on his inborn patience, then tensed as Donny asked him, “Tell us about yourself, Terry. Where do you live?”

What could he say? Best to stick to the truth, he decided. “My family lives in Surrey,” he began. “But I’m in school most of the year.”

“Where do you attend school?” Sal asked.

“In-in Scotland. It’s a boarding school.”

“Obviously, if your family lives in Surrey, you would not commute to Scotland every day.” Sal’s voice was dry and strangely silky.

“No,” Harry said with a nervous chuckle. “That would be… impractical.”

“And what do you study there?”

“Um. Uh. Regular subjects,” he said. “The usual. History. Science. Maths.” Still true, in a way. It felt awkward, being the center of attention like this. He hated being interviewed. His answers always seemed so boring.

“You sound rather young,” Sal went on. “What year are you in?”

Harry grinned. He knew this one. “Second Sixth.”

“And are you taking a gap year?”

“Of course,” he replied, shifting more comfortably in his chair. This was starting to become sort of cozy. He’d never spoken on the phone before for any real length of time and certainly never for any impractical purpose as chatting. If he had to use a telephone, it was for Order business, or to call for a delivery meal at the Dursleys, because Aunt Petunia was dead and Dudley refused to either learn how to cook or eat Harry’s cooking. This was so normal! He could almost believe he was a Muggle, that there was no Voldemort, no Hogwarts, no such thing as magic.

“I’m thinking of doing some volunteer work in London,” he went on, spinning a tale out of whole cloth. “In a homeless shelter or something. Perhaps an AIDS hospice.”

“How admirable of you,” Sal practically cooed.

“Look, Sal,” Donny interrupted with obviously teasing irritation. “Why don’t you just get it over with? We all know you want to talk to Terry in private. Just get it over with and let us get on with our own conversation, okay? Can you do that, Sal? Can you?”

In private? Huh? What?

“Certainly, Donald,” Sal said. “Anything for you. How about it, Terry? Care to meet me in a private room where we can continue our discussion further?”

“Uh… s-sure,” he stuttered. “But I don’t know how…?”

“Oh, it’s easy,” Donny said. “You just press ‘star star’ and it’ll take you to another menu. The voice commands will walk you through it.”

“And how will it know…?” His voice faltered. He was sounding too eager, wasn’t he? Shouldn’t he play hard to get or something?

“Terry,” Sal said patiently, “press ‘star star’, go to the menu, and press ‘two’. Wait for the next prompt, and select room, oh, 73486. That will shift you into a private room. I’ll meet you there.” There was the sound of a door closing.

“73486. 73486. Yes, sir,” Harry said, straightening, trying to remember the room number.

“Ooo, you called him ‘sir’! He’s going to like that,” Mikey laughed.

“Have fun, sweetie!” Donny called.

Harry hit the asterisk button twice, still muttering the room number.

A moment later, he heard, “Welcome to the private chat room menu. If you know your room number, enter it now. Otherwise –“

Harry pressed the buttons and the voice cut off. Another pause and then, “You’re entering room number SEVEN THREE FOUR EIGHT SIX. Have fun!”

He coughed. “Um.. hello? Sal? Are you here yet?”

“Terry. Good. You found it. Let me close the room.” Harry heard the telltale sound of numbers being pressed on a keypad and then the sound effect of a lock sliding shut. “There we go. I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

“Oh, well. Here I am.” A pause, and then, “What did you want to talk about?”

Sal’s voice was soft, sincere. “You, Terry. Just you.”

There was something about the way Sal said ‘just you’ that made Harry shiver. The idea that Sal was – that another person was – that a man was – focusing all his attention on Harry, sent a thrill down his spine into his groin. Twisting in his chair, he wondered if he’d be worth Sal’s time. “What about me?” he asked.

“So you’re a student.”

“Yes.”

“Are you a good student?”

“You mean study-wise? Sure. I do all right.” He wasn’t at the top of his class, but he held his own. His grades weren’t anything to be ashamed of.

“And… behavior-wise?”

How to answer that? “I get my share of detentions, but I’m not a trouble-maker.”

“Oh, but I’m sure you cause enough trouble just by breathing, don’t you?” Sal’s voice was dark with some unknown emotion.

“What… what do you mean?”

But Sal changed the subject. “Describe yourself for me. What do you look like?”

“Well, I’m… about five foot seven or so,” he said slowly. “I’ve got black hair, green eyes…” He shrugged, not knowing what else to say.

“Five seven, hm? That’s kind of short,” Sal said. “Unless you’re younger than you say you are.”

“No, no,” Harry said. “I’m seventeen.”

He heard the amusement in Sal’s voice. “That’s barely legal.”

“Is that a problem?”

There was definitely laughter in Sal’s voice now. “Not hardly. I like… younger men.”

“Why?”

And Sal laughed. It was a throaty, delicious sound and Harry liked it. “They’re usually enthusiastic. Pliable. Innocent.”

“I’m not so innocent,” Harry declared boldly, grinning and knowing Sal wouldn’t know it.

“Oh, no? And what have you done? How have you… defiled yourself? Tell me everything.”

Oh, god. He wanted a story? He wanted details? What to say now? “Well, I’ve kissed,” he began.

“Only boys?”

“No, girls too,” he said honestly, thinking of Cho Chang and an ill-fated snog.

Sal’s voice hardened. “I’ll have you know, I don’t think much of teenagers who ‘try out’ homosexuality like it was the latest fashion, so if-“

“It wasn’t like that,” Harry said quickly, very much wanting Sal to think well of him. “It was just… sort of… experimental. It was awful,” he added in a whisper.

“Awful?” Sal repeated, and he almost sounded sympathetic.

“Awful,” Harry confirmed. “I… I didn’t like it.”

“What didn’t you like about it? I’m curious.”

Harry tried to think. What precisely hadn’t he liked about kissing Cho? “Well, it wasn’t all bad, it was just… she smelled funny, and –“

“She stank?” Sal was definitely chuckling.

“Not smelled bad,” Harry said, laughing in spite of himself. “She just smelled all flowery and sugary and fake. And her arms were too soft, not to mention her, um, breasts.” He heard himself stumble over the word.

“You didn’t like her breasts?”

“No, they were in the way.” That was certainly honest. When he’d kissed Alphonse Penn, he could press right up against the other boy’s body from collarbone to hip. He’d definitely preferred kissing Alphonse.

More laughter, then, “I see. And the boys you’ve kissed?”

“Well, they didn’t have breasts now, did they?” Harry grinned.

“I hope not.”

“They didn’t. And they smelled, well, like boys. Musky and sweaty and…” And Harry felt suddenly shy. He’d never before said out loud much less acknowledge it in his own mind just why he liked boys more than girls. He wondered what it was about his current situation, in the semi-dark, in the middle of the night, on a telephone speaking only to a man he’d just met he knew only by the name ‘Sal’ that made him open up like this.

“… and what, Terry?”

It seemed like the world waited silent for his reply. “…and… you know. You must know.”

“Know what?” Sal pressed gently.

“What boys smell like. What men smell like.” Harry didn’t have the words to describe what he meant and it frustrated him.

“I do. I like how they smell. I wonder what you smell like.”

Harry’s eyes got wide. What was he supposed to say to that?

Thankfully, Sal began to answer his own question. “You’re a public school boy, so you probably smell like some expensive, fine-milled soap that your parents send you in little care packages every week. Maybe you put on cologne every morning, in which case by now only the slightest whiff of the fragrance clings to the soft skin at your throat. Your hair probably smells like sunshine even now in the dead of winter. And your arousal smells like… like fresh cut moss and spring water.”

“Moss and spring water?”

“Smell it sometime. It’s intoxicating. Wild and pure.”

Harry thought about it. There was always fresh cut moss in the potions classroom; they had used the ingredient a great deal this year. He’d have to remember to give it a good sniff sometime. “It’s a good guess, anyway,” he said finally.

“I’m a very good guesser.”

“But you’re wrong.”

“Oh? How am I wrong?” Sal seemed amused and startled. Harry had a sudden flash of insight. Sal enjoyed talking to him. He was having a good time. Neat.

“First, I don’t get care packages from home. I live with my uncle and cousin during the summer and they’re perfectly pleased to forget about me the rest of the year. So I don’t smell like fancy soap, but just the usual kind of soap the school provides. I think it smells like water lilies, myself. And I don’t wear cologne, because I don’t own any. I can’t speak for my hair or my… the other thing. I don’t go around sniffing myself, you see.”

“Point taken,” Sal said. “And I’m sorry to hear about your uncle and cousin. Your parents are dead, then?”

“Yes. A long time ago.”

“My condolences anyway. My parents died when I was small. I was sent to live with my cousin’s family as well. They were quite well off.”

“Did you like it there?”

“Mostly. My second cousin was a few years older than me and already in school by the time I arrived, so there was no one to play with. I was left alone for great stretches of time to entertain myself. And when it was time for me to go to school, I didn’t get much in the way of any care packages, either. My cousin did, of course, and he’d share with me. When he got older and married, his wife would send me things from time to time.”

“That was nice of her,” Harry said.

“She’s a very nice woman,” he replied. “But I wanted to talk about you.”

“Too bad,” Harry said, chuckling. “What’s ‘Sal’ short for?”

“Salvatore.”

“Sounds Italian.”

“It does, doesn’t it.”

“What do you look like?”

“I’m six, two. Slender. Dark hair and eyes.” It sounded rehearsed. 

“And where do you live?”

“I have a room in London for the holiday.”

“You’re spending it alone, then?”

“I’m not alone. I’m talking to you, aren’t I?”

“Ha, ha.”

Sal sighed. “If you’re trying to find out if I have a lover, the answer is ‘no.’”

Harry shrugged. Was he? “That’s okay. Neither do I.”

“Ah. And have you ever?”

“Ever what?”

“Had a lover.” Sal was certainly inquisitive.

Harry swallowed. “Um… not… not really. Technically, I don’t think so.”

“But you say you’ve kissed other boys.”

“And, you know, a few gropes and such.”

“Where?”

“The Ast-“ He stopped, realizing he was about to name the Astronomy Tower. What public school, even in the north of Scotland, had an astronomy tower? “-rophysics lab,” he said in a rush, hoping he could pull it off.

“No,” Sal laughed. “I meant where did you grope? What did you get your hands on?”

“Oh! I see.” He forced a few chuckles. “The usual. His chest and arms and and his hips and and arse and like that.”

“His arse? Over or under his pants?”

“Both.”

“Terry! I’m impressed. And did you ever slip your hot little hand around to the front of his drawers? Did your questing fingers ever find something else to hold on to?”

And Harry’s eyes closed. He had slipped his hand to the front of Alphonse’s pants. He had brushed up against the other boy’s hot cock and he had grasped it with his fingers. It had felt extraordinarily fun to touch an erection that wasn’t his own, extraordinarily thrilling to be allowed to touch it, to hear Alphonse’s gasps as Harry stroked the heated length. “Yes… yes…” he breathed, remembering.

Sal’s voice was a demonic whisper. “And it felt good, didn’t it, Terry…”

“Yes… it felt good.”

“You’re thinking of it now, aren’t you.”

“Uh-huh,” he confessed, his voice unrecognizably breathy.

“Tell me what it felt like, this other boy’s cock. Tell me what you did to him. Did you take it out of his pants? Did you stroke it?”

“Yes, yes, I did,” he confirmed with a moan. The images rushed to the forefront of his brain. He remembered everything so clearly. His sole partnered sexual experience. “And it was hot and heavy in my palm, I remember that, and Al- the other boy, he was groaning and twisting about. I had my hand on him and I started stroking him, up and down. He was wet on the top, leaking a little, so I knelt down in front of him and stuck my tongue out and licked it up.”

“Y-you did?” Sal panted. “Did you like it?”

“It was,” Harry paused, trying to remember. “It wasn’t quite like my own, but it wasn’t a bad taste. Anyway, I licked it up and then the boy pushed my head down, forcing his… his cock –“ if Sal could say it, so could he, even if he blushed which Sal would never know, “-in my mouth.”

“Describe it. His cock. Was it big? What did it taste like? How did it feel on your tongue? In your mouth?”

“It was strange,” Harry said thoughtfully. “I’d never done anything like it before so I was unsure what to do, exactly.” He thought he heard Sal mutter the word ‘virgin’, but decided to go on with his story, finding himself getting carried away with his memory. “So I just did what I thought was right at the time. I opened my mouth and slid my tongue all around his head. It felt strange. Spongy, almost. And hot. And my mouth was definitely full. His cock –“ he noticed it got easier to say the more he said it, “-was pretty wide, but not that long. Not too long, anyway. He pushed my head down as far as it would go. I guess I was an inch or so away from his… from getting it all inside my mouth. I don’t know how people do that. Anyway, he was moving my head up and down and my lips and tongue were sliding up and down his… shaft. My hands were on his hips. He’d tugged down his pants already.”

“H-How long did you suck him for?”

“A few minutes at least,” Harry said. “I wasn’t keeping track.”

“Did you like it?” Now Sal’s voice was becoming hoarse. “Do you like sucking cock?”

And something about the way Sal said those words made Harry realize he liked it very much indeed. “Yes, yes I do,” he replied. “I like…”

“Go on. Please, go on,” Sal breathed.

“I like the feel of-of cock in my mouth, on my tongue. On my lips,” he confessed, feeling himself flush furiously, but not caring. Who would know? He was alone in a dark shed in the middle of the night with just a hoarse, deep whispering in his ear like a demon on his shoulder. “I like the feel of it sliding around. I like the taste of it, the smell of it. I like hearing a man’s voice whisper and urge me on, telling me how good I am at it. Telling me what he wants me to do. I like feeling his hands in my hair. It’s, well, it’s powerful.”

“Yes, it is, isn’t it.”

“Even though I’m on my knees and he’s fucking my mouth, I’m the one making him lose control. I’m the one making him come.” His eyes widened with the realization and his heart beat faster.

“You’re the one in control.”

“Exactly.” And with all the things in his life he could not control – Voldemort, his teachers, his scar, the Dursleys – it was nice to have one thing, one activity, one person he could control entirely, even if it were a temporary, momentary, ephemeral thing. At least it was something.

“Tell you a secret,” Sal offered.

Intriguing. “All right.”

Quietly, “I like it, too.”

“You do?” Harry grinned in happy surprise.

“Very much.”

And then suddenly shy, but what for? They had already talked about intimate matters. This wasn’t new. “Have you… do you… often?”

A pause, then, “Every time I get the chance.”

Harry leaned back in the chair, realizing he had gotten hard at some point during the conversation. He placed his free hand on his crotch and pressed down firmly, then closed his thighs tight. “I wish I had the chance right now,” he muttered. Suddenly and strangely, he was aware of his solitude in the Weasley shed and the darkness beyond the range of his lumos spell.

“If I were there right now,” Sal whispered, “I’d let you.”

He sighed, not having anything more to say. “I guess I’d better –“

“Let me tell you about the first time I got blown,” Sal said, almost too swiftly.

Harry had been about to finish their conversation, figuring it best considering he’d run out of sexual experiences to share. That night in the Astronomy Tower, Alphonse had been reluctant to return Harry’s favor, but when the Ravenclaw had been convinced to at least try, they heard Mrs. Norris on the stairs and the rendezvous had been cut short. By design or by accident, Harry found it difficult to get Alphonse alone in the weeks since. He had run out of things to talk about, but apparently it was Sal’s turn to tell of a sexual experience. This should prove interesting, Harry thought. I wonder what other boys actually do together? 

“I was about sixteen,” Sal was saying. “And it was a boy in school, naturally, who first caught my attention. He was tall and broad-shouldered. A natural athlete. Beautiful. Dark hair, blue eyes. Popular. He was always surrounded by admirers. I could never get him alone. Not that I ever tried. No, I knew my place.”

“What do you mean?”

“Surely you’ve noticed that some boys make friends easily and are popular and some boys don’t and aren’t?”

Harry frowned in thought. “I suppose so.”

“You must be one of the popular boys in your school, aren’t you.”

“I suppose so.” He’d never really thought about it. He’d always had plenty of people to talk to and certainly the only ones who picked on him were Malfoy’s gang.

“That’s all right.” Sal cleared his throat. “Where was I? Oh, yes. Always on the outside looking in. A lone wolf, you might say. But I excelled in a particular subject, far beyond the rest of my classmates, and this student needed a tutor. That’s how we ended up together one night in the science lab, talking. We argued at first. Then I said something or he said something, I don’t really remember. He looked at me differently after that.”

“And you became friends?”

“Hardly. He was still popular and I was still an outcast. He would never acknowledge me in the hallways or in class, nor would I expect him to.”

“Why not? Why couldn’t you be friends?”

“There were… rivalries to consider. Traditions. It’s difficult to go against the crowd.”

Harry thought of Slytherins and Gryffindors and their ages-old feuds and the fiasco of trying to befriend Draco Malfoy in their sixth year. “I know what you mean. Go on.”

“We met for tutoring sessions and mostly just talked to each other. Got to know each other. I told him things, he told me things. And one night, I kissed him.”

“You kissed him first?”

“Surprised me, too. I’m not normally much of a risk-taker. But I kissed him first.”

“What did he do?” Harry leaned forward, speaking directly into the phone, eager to hear more.

“He stared at me,” Sal said with a rueful laugh. “He said, ‘what the hell did you do that for?’ so I apologized and got out of there. The next time I saw him, he kept staring at me, frowning. So I ignored him. Then in class, he passed me a note, asking to meet him for our regular session later.”

“And did you?” Harry grinned. This actually sounded sort of romantic.

“Of course.”

After a much longer pause, Harry gritted out, “And??”

“Oh, you want to know what happened, do you?” There were definite signs of amusement in Sal’s voice.

“Yes!” Harry laughed. “Tell me!”

“Oh, all right. So I met him and he apologized for being a prat. Then he put his hand on my chin and kissed me. We kissed for a long time, pressed up against each other, our hands going under each other’s clothes. It was frantic. Impatient. Yearning. Exciting.”

“Uh-hmm.” Harry’s eyes drooped. He imagined himself being kissed frantically, impatiently, yearningly, excitingly. Some boy running his hands all over Harry’s body, up under his clothes, touching his bare skin, maybe rubbing his nipples. A boy who gradually morphed into someone taller, older, with dark hair and eyes. Harry let his free hand wander up under his jumper. His nipples had shriveled into hard peaks. They felt painfully good under his fingertips.

“He shucked off his shirt and mine. I still remember how hot his body was when he held me, and how strong his arms felt around my back. We fell onto a bench, me straddling his lap. Our pricks were stiff and we rubbed them against each other through our pants.”

“Oh, god,” Harry muttered, remembering how wonderful it had felt when he could press his erection against Alphonse’s body.

“He pushed me to my feet and unbuttoned my trousers, freeing my cock. I’d never even undressed in front of anyone before. This was so new and so erotic. When he opened his mouth and licked the tip, I nearly came right then and there. His tongue was rough and wet and hot and slippery. His fingers were amazing, playing along my shaft, stroking me and rubbing me up and down. The friction was unbelievable. Masturbating myself was nothing like it.”

“No, it isn’t,” Harry managed. His hips jumped slightly off the chair. He pressed his hand back against his crotch. The pressure was becoming unbearable.

“When he finally put his whole mouth on my cock, I nearly exploded. As it was, he only managed one or two good, strong sucking pulls before I came onto his lips. The sight of him with my come running down his chin, his eyes bleary with lust and satisfaction… I still wank off remembering it.”

“And did you…” Harry gulped, “return the favor?”

“I did indeed. We… dated, for lack of a better term, for a few months before we finally broke up.”

“What happened?”

“It’s not important. Suffice to say he chose his friends over me.”

Harry frowned. His hand still pressed against his rather insistent erection. “But I thought you said you expected him to.”

“To not recognize me as one of his friends, yes. But as his lover? And to his closest friends who still thought he was straight? That was a slap in my face, a denial of all we had shared. That was a betrayal and I’ve never quite forgiven him for it. Although we’re past it, now. I see him now and again and for the most part, I’m grateful for what we did have together and am happy we’re not together any longer.”

“Why’s that?”

“Too much water under the bridge. Too much has happened to both of us. We’re not the same people we were before. It’s better we’re not together. It wouldn’t have lasted, anyway. We know that.”

Harry didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry.”

“It happens. You get over it.”

Another long pause. Harry was still hard. He wanted to wank off. He needed to, if he was going to get any sleep. He pressed his erection and shifted in the chair.

“Is something wrong?” Sal asked.

“Wrong? No… umm.”

“You are alone, aren’t you, Terry?” His voice was silk over steel.

“Yes,” Harry admitted. “Why?”

“I’m alone, too.”

“Oh?”

“Did you like my story?”

“…yes. Except for the ending, maybe.”

“What part did you like best?”

“The sex part,” Harry whispered, suddenly shy.

“I like that part, too,” Sal said. Then, “Did it excite you, hearing me tell about getting sucked off? Did my words make you hard?”

He couldn’t lie. “Yes.”

“Tell me you’re hard.”

Oh, god. “I’m very hard,” Harry confessed with a whimper. “Oh, god. I’m hard as a rock.”

“What are you wearing, Terry?”

What? It took him a moment to think. “A jumper and jeans.”

“Unbutton your jeans. Pull your cock out.”

“Umm… why?” He froze.

“Just do it. I’ll do it, too.”

“Wh… what?”

“I’m hard, too, Terry.”

“You… are?” It seemed incredible, unreal, impossible. 

“Talking to you has made me very hard. Unbutton your jeans.” Sal’s voice became determined, commanding and Harry found he had a difficult struggle to resist it.

He stood up, cradled the receiver against one shoulder, then unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans. He pushed the denim over his hips and followed suit with his briefs. His dark red erection stood out straight from his groin and bounced slightly, bumping the table. It felt good to bump the table. “Oh.. okay. They’re undone,” Harry announced. “I’m…” He brushed the wet tip of his cock against the lip of the table. He heard himself moan.

“Yes, Terry?”

He pulled his hips back. “Nothing.”

“Don’t be shy, Terry. Tell me. What are you doing?”

“There’s a table,” Harry said, his face flushing as red as his prick. “It’s… right there…” he said miserably.

“Are you touching the table with your cock?”

How did he know? “Yes.”

“Does it feel good?”

“Sort of.” It didn’t feel bad, anyway.

“Touch your cock with your hand. Grasp it firmly. Sit down if you want to. I’m sitting down.”

“Are you?”

“I’m sitting on my bed. I’ve taken off my pants and I have my hand on my cock. I might want you bending over that table, though.”

Harry put his hand on his own cock and squeezed it. “You do? You will?” Leaning slightly forward, he contemplated the rough-grained worktable.

“I have a nice cock, Terry. It’s long and thick with a good-sized head on it. Tell me about your cock, Terry.”

“Well, it’s...” How to describe it? “It’s long enough, I guess,” he   
said, trying to estimate his length. “And I can just put my fingers all the way around it.”

“Pardon?”

“I-I mean,” Harry said, flushing. “You know, when you make an OK   
sign? When you make a loop with your thumb and index finger? I’m a   
little less wide around than that.” He gripped his cock, squeezing it   
tight. It jumped in his palm.

“Oh. I see.”

“And it’s usually pretty pale, but right now it’s… it’s…” He was about to say ‘Gryffindor red,’ but decided on, “carmine,” instead.

“Are you cut?”

“Huh?” Cut? Why would he be cut?

“You know. Circumcised.”

“I… don’t know. How can you tell?”

“Is there a foreskin?”

He felt more and more like an idiot with each question he didn’t know the answer to. “Foreskin?”

Sal sighed somewhat indulgently. “When you get hard, is there a part of your skin that slides back, or is the head of your cock always showing?”

“Oh! It slides back,” Harry said, playing a little with his foreskin. “I didn’t know that’s what it was called. Why ‘cut’?”

“If you’re cut, it means your foreskin was removed. Usually just after birth.”

“Um. Ouch!”

“You don’t remember it,” Sal said. “And I don’t miss mine.”

“So you’re… cut?”

“Yes.”

”Why?” He tried to visualize what his penis would look like without the friendly flap of skin, and failed.

“Religious reasons,” he replied. “Now stop talking about this or I’ll lose my erection.”

“Sorry.”

“No problem. So are you touching yourself?”

“Yeah.” He hadn’t stopped. It felt really good.

“Play with your foreskin. Slide it back and forth.”

Harry did. “Oh. I like doing that.”

“Do you masturbate often?”

“When I can,” he replied honestly. “I don’t get a lot of privacy. How about you?”

“It relaxes me,” Sal said, then groaned. “Oh, Terry… what I wouldn’t give to have you here with me right now. I’d love to see your cock.”

“You would?” Harry smiled. He did think he had a nice one, after all. It was almost a shame he couldn’t show everyone.

“I’d love to take it in my hands and watch it get redder and redder and darker with the need to come, to explode in my hands or my mouth.”

“Oh!” Sal’s words were unexpectedly erotic. Harry squirmed in his chair.

“Would you touch my cock, Terry? Would you stroke mine like I’d stroke yours?”

“Yes,” Harry moaned, his hand moving faster over his prick. “Yes, and I’d suck it, too.” Oh, gods, what wouldn’t he do?

Sal gasped. “Would you, Terry? Would you stretch your sexy lips over my straining cock? Would you suck me?”

“I want to suck you, Sal,” Harry moaned. “I want to feel you come on my tongue.”

“Yes, Terry! Suck me hard and fast.”

It was faintly ridiculous, considering they had just met a half hour ago and weren’t actually in the same room, but it was more of a huge turn-on for Harry not to let the fantasy take control. “Oh, Sal, would you… would you…” He had to say it. He wanted it so badly. “I want to be fucked, Sal. I want you to fuck me. If you were here,” he added, “I’d let you.”

“You would?”

“Yes, please, Sal. Say you’ll do it. Say you’ll fuck me. I’ve never been fucked before but I want you to do it.”

“You want me to fuck you? To spread you naked on my bed, push apart your creamy white buttocks and fuck your virgin arse?”

In a paroxysm of pleasure, Harry’s thighs split apart and his hips nearly jumped off the seat. His hand moved faster and faster over his weeping prick. His thigh muscles screamed with the strain but he pushed them apart still farther. It wasn’t enough. They weren’t apart far enough. If he could only get them far enough apart, then Sal would fuck him. How he wanted a cock in his arse right now, pounding him. He wouldn’t care who heard him or who saw as long as he had a man holding him in place, finding pleasure in his body. “Yes! Sal, please – I want you to fuck me. Fuck me hard.”

“Oh, Terry. Are you touching yourself? Are you?”

“Yes! Yes!”

“Imagine me, Terry, imagine me right there with you. Bend yourself over that table, Terry. Let your sweet, virgin arse stick up into the air. Let it beg for my touch, my kiss, my fingers, my cock. I’m bending over you, parting the cheeks of your arse. I’m putting my fingers up inside you, stretching your tight little hole, preparing you for my cock. Can you feel it? Can you feel my fingers, Terry?”

“Yes! Oh, god, I want it. I want it!” And he could feel it, his arsehole gaping, a greedy mouth aching to close over hot, hard flesh. The table was rough against his stomach and his thighs trembled with the strain of his position, but the promise of pleasure far outweighed any discomfort. 

“My cock is so hard for you, Terry. I’m ready to burst, but I won’t, not until you do. You got that? You have to come first, Terry. I want you to come first.”

“Uh-huh,” he whimpered, his eyes shut tight. “I need to. I want to come now!”

“Wait for it,” Sal urged. “My fingers are stretching you. Are you stretched enough? Is your arsehole wide enough?”

“Yes! Can’t you see it? Can’t you tell?” That was his voice? He sounded so desperate, raw and needy. He didn’t care – he was. “I’m wide open for you. My hole is wide open for your cock. My legs are spread so far apart, my arse is up in the air for you. Take me, please! Fuck me hard and fast. I need it – I want it!” He felt tears in his eyes.

“Oh, you’re so good, Terry, such a good boy. Yes, your arsehole is wide enough. My cock is at the entrance to your sweet young body. I’m pushing in and it’s so wonderfully, deliciously tight, Terry. So good, Terry. So good! And now I’m thrusting fast and hard into your delicious body –“

“Yes! Please!” He begged louder, not caring who heard or saw him.

“-and it’s so good. Your hips are moving, pushing me faster and harder into you. I hear your groans and it’s so good –“

“Oh, god! I’m going to come I’m going to I’m coming! I’m coming! I’m… ah…” His fluids splattered hot into his hand. 

“Yes, Terry, so good…. I’m coming, too!”

They panted in unison for several moments. The receiver slipped from Harry’s hand. He hurried to catch it before it banged into the table. He fell back into the chair, gasping for air. Hesitantly, he brought his handful of come to his mouth and licked it off. It was cooling quickly in the winter air.

“Terry? You still there?”

“Yes, yes, I am, Sal.” His eyes blinked steadily, but he stared at nothing.

“Did you like it? Was it… good?”

Harry smiled blearily. “Oh, yeah, Sal. I liked it.”

“Was it good?”

“It was different, doing it like this,” Harry allowed. “I’ve never even done it like this with someone actually in the room aware of what I was doing.”

Sal chuckled. “Phone sex is a wonderful invention,” he replied. “All the fun of partnered sex and none of the awkward morning-after. Once we hang up, that’s it. We don’t ever have to speak to each other or fear running into each other in our real lives.”

Anonymity. That was the point, right? The thrill? Somehow, this part didn’t seem so thrilling, though. “Right,” he said. “This is… this is it. We’ll never speak to each other again.”

“You don’t sound happy about that.”

“Are you?”

“I asked you first.”

“I… I don’t know. This isn’t quite what I expected to happen when I first called up.”

“What did you think would happen?”

Harry grinned. “Well, I knew enough not to expect to talk to the guy in the ad.”

Sal laughed. “It’s good to know you’ve got some intelligence.”

He could do it. He could say it. “And I never expected to meet someone like you. Or hit it off with anyone like this.” He said it. The world did not end. Good.

“Do you… want to do this again?”

“Right now? Sure.” Harry grinned.

“Not right now,” Sal chuckled. “I’m an old man. I need time to recover.”

“We could talk until then,” Harry said slyly. “I’ve got time.”

“And I’ve got to get some sleep tonight. No,” Sal countered, “I was thinking of calling up again, say, tomorrow night? Around midnight? I could set up another private room, if you like. No pressure, of course, and even if you agree now, you don’t have to actually call in tomorrow if you don’t want to. My feelings won’t be hurt.”

“And if you don’t really want to, you don’t even have to set up another private room,” Harry said with a grin. “My feelings won’t be hurt. I’ll be disappointed, but hardly suicidal.”

“Fair enough. Say, tomorrow midnight and I’ll choose room number 29635, all right?”

“29635, 29635,” Harry muttered. He spied a ballpoint and wrote the number on the back of the ad. “Got it. Tomorrow at midnight.”

“Good. It was nice meeting you, Terry.”

“And nice meeting you, Sal.”

Harry hung up the phone, feeling strangely reluctant to end the conversation. Still, he had a date tomorrow night with a guy named Sal he’d told all about his relationship with Alphonse (such as it was) and begged to fuck him. It was hardly a typical sort of meeting, but Harry supposed it was awfully modern. And extremely satisfying. He wondered if he’d ever meet Sal in person, and if seeing him would ruin the image he had of him in his mind.

As he stood, wiped off the desk with the edge of his jumper and ended the light spell, he smiled, thinking of a tall, dark haired man, slender and pale, lying on a bed and stroking himself while saying the sexiest things into a telephone receiver. It was a compelling image and Harry felt the urge to replay the conversation, over and over again, preferably alone, probably in the shower. He left the shed and went back into the house.

~ ~ HP ~ ~ SS ~ ~

Molly Weasley took the mail delivery from Errol and vowed once more to put the exhausted bird out of his misery and finally force him to retire. Silly owl was too proud to do so, or even to allow the family’s newest owl, a gift from the twins, to take over most of the postal chores. She tutted at the bird, handed him a few treats, then brought the letters to the breakfast table where her husband sat sipping his coffee. With their youngest children and their guests back at school, their home was once more quiet and empty.

“Anything in the Prophet this morning, Molly?” Arthur asked.

She glanced over the headline. “Nothing about Harry, nothing about You-Know-Who. Must be a slow news day.” She handed him the newspaper and flipped through the rest of the envelopes. “Oh, look,” she said. “We’ve got Muggle mail. Funny envelope. It’s got a little window in it.” She held it up to show her husband.

“Well, open it, dear. Who’s it from?”

Molly frowned at the return address. “From something called ‘BT’. Hm. Must be about that infernal Muggle machine in the shed.” She pulled out the pages and began examining them with a critical eye. “Ah, yes. They want payment.”

Arthur nodded. “It all gets sent up to Dumbledore, remember. The Order’s paying the bill.”

“I know, I know…. Hang on. What’s this?”

“What’s what, dear?” Arthur set down his coffee and the newspaper to stare curiously at his wife.

“These charges,” she said slowly. “There are all these strange charges. And all to the same number, it looks like.”

“What number? We haven’t used the thing yet.”

“I know. That’s just what I’ve been thinking,” Molly said. “Yet there are all these strange calls to the same number. 0900 55 55 55. Over and over again. Looks like every night at midnight for at least two weeks. What-? Hang on. There’s a description,” she added slowly. Then her face flushed as red as her hair. “Oh. My. Goddess!”

“What is it, dear?” Arthur asked slowly. “What does it say?”

Furious, Molly stared at her husband. Her mouth opened and then shut, then she stared at the number on the bill, then back at her husband. “Okay,” she said finally, “I know it can’t be you. It wouldn’t be Ginny and it certainly wouldn’t be Hermione. It can’t have been Ron and it most definitely wasn’t dear Harry. It must’ve been the twins. It could only have been the twins. When I get my hands on those boys!” Molly stood up, her fists clenched tight around the bill. She moved to the fireplace.

“Molly? Molly! What’s happened? What’s going on?” Arthur stood up and followed after her.

Molly threw a handful of firetalk powder into the small fire and screamed, “Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes!” 

A moment later, a familiar red head appeared in the flames. “Hello, mum! What’s –“

“Fred! What do you and your brother mean, calling a ‘gay chat line’ for two hours every night while you were home for Christmas?! Your father’s responsible for that telephone you know and when Dumbledore and the rest of the Order get this bill, you can be assured they will all know just what you’ve been up to! When I think of how…”


End file.
